


Different Trajectories

by AlphaPockets



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, At first sight, Drinking, First Meeting, M/M, Meet-Cute -ish, soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaPockets/pseuds/AlphaPockets
Summary: Mike had no intentions of drinking at the dive bar on the corner. It was filled with kids barely legal to drink, bikers, and a few guys always looking for a fight. He was there for the night and had planned on a quick beer at his favorite pub. What he had not planned on was a pair of ice-blue eyes watching him from across the street. Or the sudden pull toward them and need to meet him.





	Different Trajectories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hufflepurls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepurls/gifts).



> This is a bit of a gift fic for my beloved BFFL who is a big Brad/Mike fan and agrees there is not enough stuff for them. This is not quite a meet-cute or soulmates in the normal ways, but that was the only way I could think of to write this.  
> For clarity, Mike is stationed with 2nd Recon in this in North Carolina. It is not 2003, either.

He was not sure why he was in the Gaslamp district on a Friday evening. His buddy was arriving from Oceanside in the morning with a few others he had known for years and Mike needed something to entertain himself with, but it was a Friday. And worse, it was the 15th of the month in a military town, which meant nothing but the promise of bad choices, alcohol, and bravado from the Marines and Sailors stationed and living nearby. He knew well enough, as he had taken his B-Billet as a drill instructor in San Diego as a sergeant. A good few DIs were caught causing trouble in town, picked up by MPs, or getting busted for DUIs. It was the life of a young, single servicemember, perhaps. Not all of the regimental NJPs were male, after all. But the testosterone was flowing in the bars he walked through, now, and he could feel there was something in the air.

It was a warm, early summer evening. It was not hot enough in Southern California to be uncomfortable in the direct sun, but the last chill of the cold air from the Pacific had long blown away. It was refreshing, staying at that perfect balance that his new station in North Carolina never seemed to match. It had been a few years since he was last stationed here in California and just as long since he saw Barrett. That was why he had taken the two week’s leave, after all. Barrett was on his pre-deployment leave as of two hours ago at 1600, but as a gunnery sergeant of a platoon, he had more boxes to check than the average Marine in the battalion. He and the others would be down in the morning—just in time to head to the beach and begin their weekend of being bums in Pismo.

Mike had arrived in San Diego for two reasons. The first was his flight was cheaper and left at a more convenient time for his buddy who brought him to the airport. The second was he missed San Diego, and liked it more than Los Angeles, which was the other flight option. And he would not fly into LAX unless he had to. It was up there with LaGuardia and O’Hare as his least favorite airports. He had picked out his rental, a boring and forgettable sport SUV from Hertz, and realized he had not eaten since he grabbed Bojangles in the airport. He drove to the hotel, took a quick shower, and had just let his mind wander.

The Gaslamp district held some of his favorite locations. The Irish Pub was his destination, in fact. Patrick’s was where he and his fellow senior drill instructors would go when the wives were not expecting them home right away and it was not their night to stay at the recruit barracks. Now, the wife had long departed his life and returned to Florida where she was originally from. With no one to drive him, however, he was actually after the food rather than a bit more than a pint with the boys.

He parked his car a few blocks away in a garage. The few bucks an hour would not be worse than finding street parking or worrying about the meters. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded and loose jeans with a short sleeve shirt unbuttoned over a white under shirt. He could feel his phone under one hand and his card and money clip and keys under the other. He moved with surprising ease for his build through the meandering crowd of tourists, distracted locals, and occasional rushing teen. He stopped at a light as the orange had replaced the white figure. Make sighed from his nose and looked around as he waited for the lights.

Then he saw him. It was nothing remarkable about the moment. He was in outside seating with a few other guys. They all looked roughly the same age. All were clearly military, as he had the longest hair of the group. It was pale blond like it had been sun bleached along with his tanned skin. He was tall from what Mike could tell about how his long legs stretched out—not quite claiming the space but definitely owning it. The others around him laughed while his lip barely quirked at the side. And then his eyes happened to look vaguely in his direction. From this distance, Mike could not tell their color, but it was the second of eye contact that hit him life a truck.

He had never met this man, did not know his name, his life, or even what his voice sounded like. In that moment, however, it was as though the world shifted on its axis. Cars continued pass him as he stared diagonally. Thoughts passed through his mind. Not one of them anything remotely untoward as he was used to when confronted with a sudden, blinding attraction. It was domestic and ordinary. Each image passed with a natural pull and desire to approach, to connect with, to reach toward. He could see those long limbs stretched out in front of the couch. At his height, Mike would have to shift the coffee table further from the sofa to prevent his shins from knocking into the corner. He could hear his bare feet padding across the wooden floor of the kitchen and immediately being silenced as they reached the carpet on the living room. The long hands holding the remote as he flipped through channels, bored, with the constant rain of the Southeast preventing him from being outside, enjoying what he would rather do.

It was insane. Mike was aware of it. But even as he blinked, trying to force away the images that played out so perfectly in his mind, the man could not look away from the other one. His attention had shifted, though. He seemed to have settled on another focal point, He was listening, hand loosely holding his bottled beer as his friend spoke. The man with the shaved head and wide shoulders gesticulated emphatically as he did. The other two sipped their own drinks or chuckled. Still, the man looked on as though he was unphased by what was said. Mike wondered if that’s the face he made when listening to an argument he did not want to have. About dinner, about leaving the laundry in the washer overnight, about not refilling the tank when it was almost on empty.

He was beautiful at this distance. Mike wanted to know what his voice sounded like. He wondered if it was deep with bass or light and breathy. If he had an accent or spoke with the generic American cadence. What he laughed like. Was it silent with his shoulders bouncing slightly, or did he have a strong laugh that was contagious.

The light changed and Mike was shuffled along by the crowd. He walked with a bit more urgency in his step. Foolishly wondering if he was going to miss this stranger across the street or not. He seemed settled and his friends had at least half drinks. One got up, the stockist of the four and built much like Mike was with black hair. The way they all turned and spoke as the standing one pointed at the drinks made Mike hopeful they were staying. Patrick’s was down the street a few blocks in the direction he was headed. His body, however, turned at the corner and pointed his feet toward his bar. The one filled with bikers, young twenty-year-olds, and trouble. The one the mystery man was sitting outside of, still staring off as his friend spoke.

Espera was talking, which was not surprising all things considered. It was part of the charm when it came to the man. Brad was never one to hold long, in-depth conversations. But Tony? He spoke enough for the two of them and always knew how to leave in an opening where Brad could interject without feeling at odds with the moment. Kocher was on the other end of the spectrum. He preferred to sit in comfortable silence and let their natural ability to move around each other and communicate silently do the work. They had been around each other, for better or worse, for most of their enlisted lives. They had an ease about them that came naturally. The only one he lacked that true, solid connection with was Lovell, but not for anything negative. Lovell was fresh from Third in Japan and had spent most of his career either there or in LeJeune. He was a lot like Kocher, he realized, with the slightest dash of something more cynical and cruder.

Friday nights like this were generally more chaotic. They were, however, at the beginning of their pre-deployment leave and most of the guys had already dispersed to their hovels to see whatever gremlins they were related to. He had to drive Person, Hasser, and Garza to the airport the next day, and he knew both Lovell and Kocher had agreed to do the same. Pappy and Jacks both had left for home and Gunny Barrett had made sure those driving had their cars checked with Carisalez and Bud. The dispersion left about five people gone from their table, but Brad did not mind. It was loud enough without Ray antagonizing people or Rudy’s passive way of endangering the masculinity of every other male in the general area. They would get one more shot at this before First Marines stepped off to their next deployment, and that was in a month when everyone came back and prepared to check in one last time.

Brad’s eyes slid through the crowd as Tony spoke and the other two chuckled. When he was not pontificating over some imagined slight, Espera always claimed Brad was cruising for the next girl to pick up. He never denied to rumors of hookers and hook-ups, after all. He had learned a thing or two about playing the game cool like that. The rumor mill would churn regardless of proof and fact. He did have a type, something the guys always noted when they were at the bar and Brad did feel like taking someone home. He liked them petite with nice hair and an angular face. Even the few men he had admitted attraction to were similar. His eyes lazily coasted over the people who crossed the street as Kocher got drinks. Tonight was not the night to take someone home for an easy lay. He had people to drive to the airport and the short trip north to see his parents. He had surfing with his father the day after, which meant early to bed.  
His family were long passed the age of teary goodbyes and the dreaded proclamations of how much they would miss him. They knew he knew. And Brad knew they were aware he would miss their presence, as well. They were affectionate in their own right, but after the shock of the first two deployments, they had settled. This was technically his fourth, as the Marine Corps counted his augment to Korea. And while no trip overseas was easy, this mission was less of a danger than the original ones had been. The fighting had long-since stopped, after all.

The crosswalk sign lit up and gave Brad a whole new group to stare absently at as they approached. Some hipsters with a strange mishmash of clothing. Two businessmen who looked harried by life with their Bluetooth earpieces in and active. A group of friends or a group date judging by how friendly the six were but still split into obvious couple. Some teenagers most likely heading to the stores up the road. And then a man who seemed to appear as the groups parted. He was built like Kocher or even their gunny with solid shoulders and an easy stride that had a slight lope with the right leg he had a strong, long face with rounded features. He walked with purpose even though he seemed to casually be crossing the street. If that were not proof enough of his profession, the buzzed hair that made his head seem fuzzy as a peach told the story. He was in the military, though Brad had a feeling he would remember the man if they had met. Not because of his looks—over all he was rather plain and common to look at—but because of the feeling he got when he realized their eyes had connected.

Brad felt as though he had been tossed from his board and a wave tumbled him enough for his sense of up and down to feel off. He froze with his bottle lifted halfway to his mouth and lips parted as a medley of feelings and ideas slammed through his mind. It was like the jolt of the parachute opening in Jump training. The heart beating as their Helo training crashed him and the squads below the surface of the water. His mind scrabbled for purchase on the safety release in the same manner as he grappled with what he felt. Brad was no stranger to attraction. He was teased ruthlessly for being hyper-sexual. His aversion to monogamy was less of a hatred for the idea of being tied down and more of an acceptance of his fate. The joke had been said from boot camp to every time one of the guys complained about their wives hating the duty schedule. If the Marine Corps wanted him to have a partner, it would have issued him one. When Victoria left, he was shattered, of course. But he also knew it would happen. Before their split, he had watched so many young Marines get married and divorced within two years. He had been with her for almost longer than he had not. But he was constantly on the move and never as quite ready to get married. Their engagement just extended until she was tired of it.

He had put that life away. He would revisit it later, when his body was too old for Recon and he was resigned to the fate of all senior enlisted members of his job field—training or leading the companies themselves. But this man shifted that view. Unbidden, he saw the way he strolled with his hands loose and easy at his side and imagined that strut as they walked toward whatever gathering Espera guilted him into. His eyes, studying with a comforting stare watching him after a long three weeks of training for recertification, knowing not to ask as it would not help. His strong hands and arms able to help around the house, or spot him while lifting, even running over his back and shoulders. His voice reminding him to stop slouching at an odd angle when at the computer and suggesting a taller desk. He was used to the itch and desire to paw and grip at the bare skin of the women he took home. But his images were everything those fantasies were not. He did not yearn to know what sounds he made or if he would beg. He wanted to hear a laugh, see the eyes crinkle in laughter, or watch as he shifted from stern to understanding.

The man continued to cross until he stepped onto the sidewalk and Brad swallowed thickly. He finally took a drink from his beer and fought against the need to follow where his path was taking him. His buddies continued to talk around him, though he could feel the dark eyes of Espera watching him. Brad’s own blue eyes followed the man as he turned slightly, then snapped forward again. He looked at the bottle of beer in contemplation. He could sit here and forget the moment or follow that tug. There was a pull in his mind to just check if the man had walked into the same bar he was sitting outside of on the “patio.” There had been a mutual connection. At least enough for both men to stare at each other, and Brad needed to know why it had happened at all. Why this man caught his attention in a sea of others walking through the district. Why he could not focus on anything other than what life could be like if he stepped forward.

“I’m getting something stronger if we’re discussing Rudy’s plans to continue his gym classes in country,” Brad grumbled. He had been paying attention just enough to hear the topic shift from the new lieutenant to Rudy’s training schedule for the company. He stood up and finished off his beer and chose to ignore the way Kocher’s eyebrow arched at him.

When he stepped inside, two sensations hit him. First was the instant relief of the air conditioning against his skin. He was used to the heat, especially after multiple tours to the Middle East and one to Africa. That did not reduce his enjoyment of modern technology and amenities such as cold air and running water. The second was the tunnel vision. The room was not dark, but a great deal dimmer than it had been outside. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the low artificial lighting mixed with the brilliant neon glow. Still, he spotted the way the man was now standing with his back to Brad and shoulders hunched slightly, as though curling himself inward. Brad licked his lips and rubbed the pad of his thumb against his calloused knuckles, cracked two fingers, and stepped forward. He watched as the man almost shifted as though he were attempting to not look over his shoulder to see if he was the one who caused the whine of old, rusted hinges. It just showed he could feel it, too. And that only served to encourage him further.

He stepped forward and moved around the two guys playing pool. He moved passed the girl with choppy, short hair he had noticed earlier and moved toward the man at the bar. Closer now, he could see his skin was pale and the tan was a dusting of freckles. He had the tell-tale tan line visible through his close shave of a cover and sunglasses with a thick but tapered band. Brad, himself bore a similar line, though faded from his time spent on the beach or playing sports. He was a head shorter than Brad, perhaps the same height as Espera, but not as short as Ray or Hasser, and he was stockier than he originally thought, as well. What could be mistaken as a softness was strong muscles in his shoulders and arms but not trimmed and defined in the same way his platoonmates liked to have.

Brad propped himself up against the sticky wooden bar top. He was close enough to feel the heat bleed from the other man’s arm. There was a charge in the air now as both seemed to fight the impulse to look at each other. They stayed in silence as the bartender finished the last few orders he had taken before turning to Brad. The man had served Brad for almost a year and a half now and his lip twitched as he looked down at the empty bottle. But before he could order, the man beside him held up two fingers. Brad’s eyes looked down at his glass, which held a lonely, half-melted ice cube, then back to the bartender. The kid waited for permission and Brad nodded.

Mike could feel the man looming over him. He had known the man was there from the moment the door opened. It was like missing the last step in the dark or slipping on ice. It had taken everything in his body to not turn and look at him. Their eyes had locked a second time—one that had actually connected one man to the other. He had watched back as this younger man looked on. He had felt the way his gaze followed him until Mike had disappeared around the front of the building. There was no coincidence that within minutes, the back door had opened. And when the man leaned against the bar, Mike knew he had felt it, as well. He could feel the sweat still dripping run down his back like a cold finger. He focused on that rather than the desire to turn and see his face close up.

Yet, when he was about to order, Mike could not help but to do it first. He was not young or new to any of this, He knew that sensation in his stomach. He knew the tingle in his spine now.

Two glasses were placed on the bar top, and the bartender who was barely legal himself turned and put the drinks on Mike’s tab. He was a good one, though, as he had not poured Mike’s bourbon, but rather what it seemed this young man enjoyed. Anejo, neat, with two limes on the side. He felt the shudder form at the base of his neck that was always linked to tequila for the older man. It must have been visible enough for the tall blond to notice because he huffed out an amused breath. Mike’s lip turned upward in humor as well. Long fingers wrapped around the rim of the glass and pulled it toward him, and Mike mimicked the motion. The man took a small sip. Then Mike did. The man gave a pleased sigh that was barely audible over the music and chatter around them. Mike shuddered again and put the glass down.

“Most try to hide their dislike of the drink they’re sharing with someone,” the other man said. His voice was apparently breathy after all. A bit of a California accent with the way the words lifted and came out light. Mike smirked and looked over at the guy.

Close up, he was breathtaking. It was a phrase he had given to locations and views of nature. The overlook of African jungles from atop a volcano. The night sky in the desert that stretched out with billions of stars. He had never thought that about a person. He knew it was an overlay of that charge he felt before even laying eyes on the man, but the icy blue eyes, the tanned skin and blond hair short but still in need of a new trim to be back in regulation, the high cheek bones and delicately defined jaw and chin. He was tall, almost impossibly so, with long arms that held him up easily. And his fingers were still wrapped loosely around his glass. He even allowed himself to be looked at conspicuously. The intensity of his gaze told Mike he was doing the same thing.

“Got nothing to prove,” Mike finally drawled. He got a small lip twitch in response as the man sipped his tequila again.

Brad wanted to not like the drawl in the older man’s voice, but he did. For all the shit he gave Ray for being a hick and teased Pappy for his sayings and folksy wisdom, the way the man’s heavy accent matched his deeper voice did nothing to change the desire he felt. The man was still everything Brad never looked for in a partner before. His face was strongly built and definitively _masculine_ with his jaw and focus. His nose looked to be broken slightly and had been set just off-center. But it was his honey-like eyes that seemed amber under the white lights of the bar shining on them. They were easy and steady with the same easy patience that he had seen in senior enlisted members. But this lacked the underlying sense of annoyance and was laced with curiosity. He was not shy or coy, either. His gaze met Brad’s intensity with an unyielding ease the younger man had never experienced. He hid the way it pleased him with another sip of tequila before putting it down with a lick of his lips.

The man’s eyes did not leave his, which was only more intriguing. Brad reached back with his foot, found the cross bar of a stool and dragged it to him before sitting down. Silence settled over them again, but it was easy and comfortable. The way the air crackled around them. His fingers begged to reach forward to touch him, but Brad held firm. The man sat on the stool that he stood in front of him and turned to look back.

“Ain’t your buddies going to wonder where you are,” the man offered as he braved another sip of the drink. Brad fought another smile as he shuddered again.

“It tastes better if you put the lime in it,” Brad offered in lieu of an answer. He was met with an even stare. That got a grin.

“I never knew, my life has changed,” the man replied before stubbornly drinking again.

“They’ll see enough of me soon enough,” Brad finally relented with his gaze flicking to the door. He could just make out the way Lovell was leaning back to see what was taking him so long. He was glad his phone was still outside.

“I figured you boys were here for that.” The man spoke with no question in his voice as if he _knew._ Perhaps he did. He took a longer drink, draining the tequila and shuddered again, but deeply this time. Brad huffed again in amusement.

“You know how it is,” Brad replied. Testing. The hum and a small nod confirmed it. “Would you like another?”

The man leveled him with a look. One Brad held with amusement glittering in his eyes though his face stayed easy and plain.

“Anything but tequila,” The man relented.

Brad hummed brightly and used two fingers to drag the menu to him. He spun it toward the bartender with his middle finger and indicated a drink and then another tequila for himself. The kid did not betray his amusement but wandered off to the well to mix the drink.

“Brad,” he offered as he turned back to the older man. The honey eyes looked him over again.

“Mike.” The _thunk_ of a filled glass hit the bar top as the kid put it down on a coaster. Mike’s gaze slid back to Brad with a look of playful exasperation and he took a slow sip through the straw with their eyes locked.

Mike watched as he drank the neon fruit blend. Brad’s gaze betrayed almost nothing outside of the upturn to his lips. It did nothing but cause that rush and lightheadedness to grow and resonate. He could about hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. His leg extended and rubbed the sole of his shoe against that of Brad’s flipflop. It was like a jolt coursed through him. Shock, maybe, that Brad’s leg shifted to lean into the pressure.

They spoke as Brad sipped the rest of his two drinks and Mike made his way through what was actually a tasty beverage. He noted the way Brad’s gaze kept flicking outside. Each time, his eyes slid forward again with barely restrained desire to roll his eyes. Their stools had inched closer as they discussed basic topics. Music. What they drove. Where they lived. There were hints laced through the talk about this pull and interest. Thinly veiled attempts to say this conversation could continue longer. Later. Mike’s leg was now pressed on a long line against Brad’s calf. Brad’s hand reached out slowly toward the one he had resting by the base of the glass. From the new position, he could see the way his friends kept looking in on them. Each time, it was a different guy looking through the door.

He caught the bald one looking in when the felt a soft touch that sent a shudder through his body in full. Brad’s finger had traced from his wrist to the knuckle of his small finger and back. Mike looked over at him and he found Brad watching him closely. His eyes were not glazed with alcohol but intense with thought. His finger moved again, and Mike kept his eyes locked on that icy stare. He let it happen two more timed before he reached his finger out and gripped at Brad’s.

“Should probably get back to the guys,” Mike told him. His voice sounded strained in his ears. There was a tense feeling in his throat as he did fought against the desire—the need—to keep Brad there. Brad’s face shifted a few times. Confusion, sadness, thoughtfulness, and then blank. Almost blank. He stood slowly and reached one hand over their joined grip for his glass and stepped back a pace. His finger stayed linked with Mike’s as he moved. And when Mike stayed rooted in his spot, Brad saw the conflict in his eyes. He did not want it to end either. There was a rush on his head that felt like standing too fast. His heart pounded heavily, and he tugged on Mike’s hand lightly three times. His lip quirked softly, and Mike stood.

He could see it now. Mike standing as Brad pulled him from the couch where they had settled in. Mike was a Longhorns fan, but that was acceptable. They could watch them and the Bruins for NCAA games, perhaps. He could imagine this same look he wore now, one of daring and hope, as he led Mike from the living room to the bedroom slowly. He wondered if each time would have this same exhilarated feeling, one of trepidation and excitement coursing like a live wire in water. If Mike would watch him with that same warm, even look in his eyes as he followed willingly. As he kept their hands linked despite the people looking on. Brad stopped, though, when Mike tugged his finger forward.

They had been talking for over an hour. Mike had not felt the time slide by but clocked don’t lie. With every moment, he felt a sense of whole or completion. The ease and comfort between them. Brad did not move or shy away from contact. Not with the people watching in the bar. Not with his buddies outside no doubt gossiping as Marines do. He knew that’s what he was now. Brad knew he was there to see his own gunnery sergeant and promised to give Barrett hell for making him wait for surfing. And now, he was following the man outside to his friends. Men who had watched them for an hour and no doubt knew what was going on—what they both wanted to have happen. Mike tugged Brad’s finger a second time once the man stopped. He tilted his head and stepped forward again. The moment of confusion was over when Mike tilted his head up enough. He watched the slow grin spread as Brad closed the distance.

It was short and when they separated, Brad stayed close enough for his breath to blow hot on Mike’s lips. They stared at each other a moment longer until Brad nodded. It was no longer two fingers linked, but the warm and tight press of two hands grasping. Brad stepped back once more and they walked toward the door together toward the three smirking guys who failed to convince anyone they had not watched. Toward the whatever else would happen next.


End file.
